The Consequences of a Human Heart
by thesonicwizard
Summary: "I learned a lot from the Winchester and their lives, and I think now it is time to share those stories. I told them once their lives would be written in the Winchester Gospel, but I did not realize I would be the one to write it. These are the Winchesters and these are their stories."
1. Prologue

I am a celestial being. I am made of stars and the spaces between atoms, thoughts and the exhalations of dying men. I exist in every form imaginable because I don't really exist at all. I am the force that crosses star-crosses lovers and strings along the fates of tragic heroes.

I am a celestial being, but I am utterly disarmed by human beings.

My name, roughly translated out of Enochian (the language of angels), is Castiel. I was known by my friends as Cas. But, I knew my friends long before they ever knew me.

The Winchester boys were an extraordinary pair of people, much more so than I or anyone else ever expected of them. Sam and Dean, a pair of brothers who challenged heaven itself - and won. They had been earmarked from the dawn of creation as the pawns of the Apocalypse. Sam was the dark, and Dean the light. Forever it had been known they were handpicked, destined to be the vessels through which Michael and Lucifer would act. It was a grand, celestial scheme.

But they refused.

Frankly, Heaven and Hell should have seen it coming. These boys were born to be a force of nature and incredible circumstances had forged them into something greater than their predetermined purpose. They showed me this. They showed me a lot of things: free will, loyalty to those who care for you, and more than anything, a feeling of family.

The Winchesters were many things, but above all else they were human, with very human hearts.

As I said, I knew them long before they knew me. I knew for a long time they were set to be great, although I did not know why, and so I took an interest in them. I watched them from Heaven, which is less setting up in the clouds and more pervading the very fabric of the universe, but those are technicalities. Even when I became a part of their lives, I would observe them.

I learned a lot from the Winchester and their lives, and I think now it is time to share those stories. I told them once their lives would be written in the Winchester Gospel, but I did not realize I would be the one to write it.

These are the Winchesters and these are their stories.


	2. Adrenaline

The human heart is a marvelous instrument. It contracts and pumps every moment for an entire lifetime. It is relentlessly durable and remarkably powerful. It is forever working to preserve the life it is apart of.

As an angel, my vessel has a heart but I do not. Since I am really what is keeping my vessel functioning, his heart no longer beats. However, there was an infinitesimal moment when I, Castiel, took the place of Jimmy Novak. In that moment I felt the blood surging through his veins, the air rushing into his lungs, the muscles of his body tightening in fear, and the circuitry of his brain firing wildly against my presence. But more than anything I felt the pound of his heart in his chest as it raced to fill his body with adrenaline. Fight or flight, escape the intruder, preserve yourself.

But it was only a moment.

I remember a day, years before the Winchester knew me, when I was observing them. I was curious to see what these boys were about. Sam had just left Stanford, and Dean was still scouring the country for his father. I, of course, knew where he was, but I saw no need to interfere. The boys were none of my concern at this point.

The moment I chose to observe the boys was when they were performing a routine hunt. A 'salt-and-burn', they called them. It was nothing to them. A simple task to fill time and fulfill a sense of duty.

Dean drove behind the wheel of his treasured vehicle. If Dean Winchester's soul were to take a physical form, it would most likely manifest as that black Chevrolet, with it's silver accents and roaring engine. Dean breathed gasoline and exhaust fumes.

Sam slept restlessly in the passenger seat. He didn't want to be sleeping - he was still plagued by nightmares of his beautiful girl burning above his head. Dean spared a glance at his tossing and turning brother, a grimace crossing his face.

The Impala roared down the dark highway, lighting up small patches of asphalt at a time with its headlights. The stars flickered out as Dean pulled onto a dark pathway that was sheltered under a broad canopy of trees.

Down the road was an open field, pock-marked by a few stones. Dean parked the car, and shoved his brother's shoulder.

"Up at at 'em, Sammy."

Sam stirred to life, stretching out his long limbs. When he realized he had been asleep, he flashed Dean an irritated look. "Why did you let me sleep?" He snapped tiredly.

"I tried to wake you up, man. You were out like a light." Dean had never tried.

Sam grunted with disbelief but shoved his way out of the Impala without further protest.

Slamming the doors shut, the boys moved around to the trunk. Dean flicked open the hood, revealing an array of weaponry. Right on the surface was a large can of kerosene, a similar container of salt, and two large shovels. Dean grabbed the gas and a shovel, and Sam followed suit with the salt. A manicured, familiar procedure for them. Completely natural and thoughtless.

A short walk brought them to a gravestone slowly being chewed away by earth and moss. A name was faintly legible in the stone, but the date only showed an 18 for a year and nothing else. Sam and Dean placed their salt and gas on the ground and gripped their shovels.

"Start digging Sammy."

So the boys dug, and dug. One hour passed, and then another and another. Finally, Sam's shovel struck wood. The boys uncovered the coffin and pulled back the lid. A grotesque skeleton stared back at them. with sickly, emaciated skin clinging to its last fumes of preservatives.

Sam wrinkled his nose at the smell, but started to pour the salt over the body. Dean followed with the kerosene. With both containers empty, Sam looked at Dean expectantly, who fumbled around in his jacket pockets.

"Shit. I left the lighter in the car."

Dean jogged off to retrieve the lighter, leaving Sam standing next to the desecrated grave.

Sam tugged his jacket around him as the wind picked up. His breath fogged the air, and a panicked look crossed his face as he watched the vapor rise into the sky. "Dean!"

Sam's cry was choked off by a pair of cold hands gripping his throat. He toppled to the ground, panting as he scrambled away from the pale figure in front of him. The ghost had evil eyes and rotted teeth. A torn dress and matted hair. It was the epitome of a haunting. The ghost powered after Sam, but a burst of energy propelled Sam off his knees and sent him scrambling for the salt. The adrenaline coursed through him as he raced to unscrew the lid off the container.

A cold hand gripped his shoulder as he threw the lid aside. Another burst of power let Sam wrench himself away to throw the remains of the salt at the ghost. It let out a screech and disappeared.

Sam pushed himself off the ground and sped toward the Impala, legs pumping with all their capability. He collided into the side of the car, barely stopping himself.

"Dean! Dean!" He yelled, banging on the window. The older Winchester was digging around in the seat. "Get the goddamn lighter!"

Sam rushed to the trunk and dug around in the guns for his rock salt gun. He found it, and pressed his back to the car. The silence of the night pervaded the air, marred by Sam's heavy pants. Dean continued to rummage between the seats, letting out a stream of curses.

Sam scanned his eyes across the field, attentive to every hint of motion.

Suddenly the gruesome face appeared directly in front of Sam. With a gasp and a bang, he fired his gun. But the ghost had knocked it away and he missed. The gun was sent flying to the ground. Cold hands cut off Sam's cry for help once more.

Dean finally found his lighter and, seeing Sam pinned against the car, jolted to life. He tore across the field, heart pounding against his ribs. He fumbled at the grave with the lighter. Back by Sam, the ghost turned with a hiss, abandoning Sam for Dean. Sam fell to the ground, gasping for air.

Dean got the lighter lit and chucked it into the grave. It roared to life with flames, as did the ghost chasing after Dean. When the ghost had vanished, Dean bent over with his hands on his knees, feeling the exhaustion replace the adrenaline.

The boys cleaned up the mess, packed everything up, and drove off.

I understood a little better why the other angels were so preoccupied with these two boys. They were, without a doubt, incredibly powerful, especially with the extra spark danger brought to life in them.

I remember that infinitesimal moment where Jimmy struggled against me. For a moment, I feared he would overpower me, and he was weak in comparison to the Winchesters. I could only imagine how it would feel to have the heart of Sam or Dean pounding against ribs, pulling against the reins.


End file.
